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“This is perfect,” Tristan says, and then he pops a grape into his mouth. “The perfect distraction.”

“I’m so glad I was able to help.”

His eyes meet mine, and his are filled with gratitude. “Thank you,” he says softly, his voice raspy.

I nod and smile. “I’m always up for a movie and a picnic. Even when it’s eight degrees outside.”

He chuckles. “We’ll find a way to make it happen.”

“You doing okay?” I ask.

He nods, and then he lets out a long breath and he leans back into the seat, resting his head on the headrest. “Yeah. I’m wondering how many missed messages I have at this point, to be honest. I had at least twelve from my teammates in the first three minutes of the movie.”

“Are you close with a lot of your teammates?” I ask. I opt for a cheese cube.

He nods. “My best friend is Travis Woods. We’ve gotten really close over the last year, and I’m thinking about maybe getting a place with him when I get back into town since I’m moving out of my place.”

“You are?”

“Yeah. I emailed my landlord before I came out here to let him know I wouldn’t be renewing my lease in April. I need to get the rest of my stuff packed up and moved out, but I haven’t arranged any of it yet. It doesn’t feel like a priority.”

“What about your wife?” I blurt.

He huffs out a chuckle with exactly zero merriment in it. “She can go to hell for all I care.”

Wow. I’ve never known Tristan Higgins to say a bad word about anybody.

She must’ve really screwed him up.

“I’ve asked her upon many occasions to move out, and she won’t. So the only way I can get rid of her is not to renew the lease and force her to move,” he says. “It’s been…a rough road, to say the least.”

I reach over and squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry.”

He presses his lips together. “Thanks. What about you? You mentioned you’re staying here a while, but do you think you’ll go back to Chicago?”

I shrug, feeling the spotlight as it shines on me. “I haven’t really thought about it. I just left, and I guess I’m still working on regrouping after leaving my job.” And growing this baby.

This feels like a good time to tell him.

I open my mouth to say the words when we both hear a knock on my window.

“Oh Jeez!” I gasp, clutching my heart as I turn to see a police officer standing there. I roll down the window.

“You two okay in here?” he asks, and I recognize him as Walt Keegan, a boy from a graduating class a few years ahead of ours. He glances past me at Tristan. “Tristan Higgins. I heard you were back in town, man! How’ve you been?”

I nod, still trying to catch my breath after the scare.

“I’m great, and we’re fine,” Tristan says, laughing at my reaction. “We’re just having a picnic next to our old tree.”

Walt nods. “I saw the car pulled off and idling. Had to make sure it wasn’t a problem. Or, you know, some kids doing it in the backseat.” He laughs.

Tristan glances at me and winks. “Nope, we’re not kids anymore.”

Wait a second. Is he implying that we’re doing it in the backseat? Or that we should be?

I laugh a little nervously. “Sorry for troubling you, Officer.”

Walt laughs at my formality. “No problem. Higs, I’d love to catch up, maybe tip back a few while you’re here. Why aren’t you at the Pizza Joint watching the game?”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t really in the mood to watch a game I should’ve been playing.”

“Ah,” Walt says. “Well, I’ll stop by your parents’ place so we can catch up sometime. Enjoy your picnic and take care.”

We both thank him, and I roll up the window.

“Jeez, he scared me,” I say.

Tristan laughs. “You should’ve seen your face.”

“Did you see him coming?”

He nods, his eyes still merry with laughter. But then it fades, and he blows out a soft sigh.

“What’s wrong?”

He lifts a shoulder. “You know. Same old thing. He wants to stop by to catch up. He wants to tip a few back.” He shakes his head a little. “We were never close, and now just because we attended the same high school three years apart, he assumes we’re friends. We’re not. But if I don’t give him what he wants, I come out looking like the asshole.”

I reach over and grab his hand. “You’re not an asshole.”

“I know that. You know that. Everybody else?” He shrugs. “Verdict’s still out, and if I don’t give in to whatever they ask for, they make their judgment.”

“That’s not really fair,” I protest.

“Right. But that’s my life.”

I never thought of it that way, and it makes me feel a little sad for him. He’s simply doing what he loves for a living, but even though it looks like the best job in the world from the outside, it looks like it comes with more than a few downsides.

* * *

A few days after the big game, I have my anatomy scan. My mom recommended her doctor in Davenport, and she comes with me to the appointment—after, of course, she asks who was laying down in my front seat, and I laugh all the way to the doctor’s office at the predictability of it all.

Or maybe I’m just nervous.

“Do you want to know the sex?” the ultrasound technician asks me once I’m on the exam table and she’s got the wand moving over my growing tummy.

I nod.

She smiles. “It’s a girl.”

My mom squeezes my hand, and I think about how we’ve gotten closer and closer over the weeks I’ve been back home. My eyes fill with tears as I think about growing that same sort of bond with my own little girl. It’ll just be the two of us—the three of us with my mom—and together we can face the world.

I just wish I could drum up the nerve to tell Tristan about her…but for as close as we’ve grown over the last couple weeks, and as close as we continue to grow as we meet each night at the window at our time, I’m too damn scared that it’ll only drive a wedge through the bond we’re recreating.

And so I focus on planning the craft fair.

We’ve settled on naming it the Fallon Ridge Festival, and Ellie’s assistant has created us amazing graphics with a custom little TNT Higs logo on it. We’ve had a signage company give us a great deal on signs (and an even better deal after Tristan offered them a signed jersey). We’ve got a great line-up attending, and Tristan’s friend Ben Olson who knows everybody who’s anybody arranged to have some musical guests stop by to perform. The high school offered up the football field for the concerts, and as we inch toward the end of February, our plans are solidified and I’ve gotten twelve crafters from Fallon Ridge to commit to selling their goods at a table along with twelve others from surrounding communities.

We have bounce houses and a dunk tank as Tristan suggested, and he’s arranged for several of his teammates to make it out for the event. Our auction items are top of the line thanks to Tristan’s connections, and his mom has volunteered to put together raffle baskets.

All in all, we’re on track for what we hope will be an incredibly successful event, but all the planning has me exhausted.

It’s a Tuesday night the last week in February when I get to my room ten minutes before our nine fifty-seven meeting at the window. He’s not in his window yet, but I open mine a half-inch or so and collapse on my bed for a few minutes.

In my groggy state, I think I hear the window sliding open. I try to pry my eyes open to check, but the light feels too damn bright against my exhausted eyes. A minute later, the brightness of the light flips to darkness, and I feel lips near my temple as the blanket at the foot of my bed is lifted over me. I snuggle more firmly into my pillows.

“Goodnight, Tessa,” he whispers, and his hand squeezes my shoulder.

My chest swells with love for him as I hear the window slide closed. “Goodnight, Tristan,” I whisper back, and then I dream of him lying in my bed beside me.